


Possession

by LoveLikeWinter1



Series: Golden Shackles [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: #WhyBiowareWhy, Dragon Age Kink Meme, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Other, Pining, Smut, Spirits are people too, Still stuck in smut hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-11-29 02:19:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11431131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveLikeWinter1/pseuds/LoveLikeWinter1
Summary: " Anders ignored how Justice had learned to touch him like this, filling him from within and stimulating every sensitive spot on his body, his hold on Anders needful, greedy and possessive.It was too much and not enough, and Anders heard himself gasp sharply as Justice flickered against the sensitive crease at the top of his thigh. "Justice finds a new way to reach his host; sexiness ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Found this old prompt on the DA Kink Meme, and I just had to fill it!  
> My lackluster imagination thanks the Maker for such amazing prompters :)
> 
> Original prompt:
> 
> Anders and Justice can't communicate in any conventional way, which is very frustrating for them both. After some time, Justice figures out how to 'touch' Anders, ie use his powers to stimulate nerve endings to make Anders's body think he's being physically touched. At first, he uses it in very innocent ways, 'poking' Anders when he's falling asleep over their manifesto, giving encouraging pats on the back, maybe some 'tap once for yes, twice for no' kind of communication. But being in a living human body has made Justice curious about some aspects of humanity, so his touches turn a bit more naughty.... 
> 
> \+ Justice has a horrible timing, eg. during battle, when Anders is in a public place, when he's trying to act inconspicuous near Templars etc....

Anders had been tired, Justice knew, and weary. The clinic took away enough of his time without Hawke knocking on their door whenever she needed a hand in performing Kirkwall's mercenaries' dirty work. Anders spent what precious time he had left stalking around the Gallows to gather information on the Templars, or working on his manifesto, as he had been tonight. Dawn had almost broken when Anders had finally fallen asleep, although Justice knew his host hadn't mean to. Anders now sat hunched over his desk, his head lodged upon an unfinished draft of his manifesto; it was an uncomfortable position, and Justice knew their body would ache horribly by the morrow. 

 

 

Yet Anders slept, and Justice's world was bathed in silence.

Silence was overwhelming and all-consuming. It was a plague on this realm, and it was more than Justice could withstand. He longed for the sweet song of the Fade, the calming, soothing, yet maddening hum that echoed through every corner of his realm, lashing at spirits and demons alike. It was pacifying at times, a soft lullaby that could appease the fiercest quarrels among demons. Yet every so often it would turn into a throbbing, discordant song of war, filling even the meekest of spirits with an unquenchable ire. All inhabitants of the Fade bent to the song's will, and in return the song brought them joy and sorrow and an unexplainable longing that filled them with life.

This realm was silent, and he was silenced.

There was nothing Justice could do to express a thought, or convey an emotion: he was a prisoner, trapped in a body that wasn't his own, and even his willing host could not hear his voice, or understand his feelings.

It was not for lack of trying: it had been just over a year since their joining, a long year that had been cruel to Justice, and crueler still to Anders. Justice thought - they both thought - that together they would be able to fight the injustice that plagued this world, their union turning them both into a force to be reckoned with. They thought it would allow them to understand each other better, to truly act as one. Instead, it had forced a divide between them that neither Anders nor Justice had been able to overcome. They had discovered, almost instantly, that they could not communicate anymore, or at least not as easily as they had before.

Justice could flare angrily within his host, clutching at Anders' chest to express his disapproval. He could also manifest contentment by nudging gently at their shared consciousness, or forcing positive thoughts into the depths of Anders' mind. Complex ideas or thoughts, however, were almost impossible to convey, and soon enough Justice had grown impatient: silence did not suit him. Justice twitched in anguish, coiling deep within Anders and snapping bitterly at their shared minds, yet his host did not react. The spirit surfaced gently, feeling for Anders' mind, eager to put an end to the insufferable silence: even the chaos of Anders' mind was better than this unyielding quiet. The spirit twisted beneath his host's skin as tendrils of thought grew and expanded within their mind, but Anders did not respond, too deeply asleep to feel Justice's nudging. 

Justice's touches became more insistent as he twisted and flicked nervously within his host, exploring his - their - body, desperate to shake Anders out of his slumber. Justice surged forward until he was just skin deep, expanding within Anders and feeling for every inch of skin and the tense, taut muscles underneath. It was a strange feeling, to be stretched out within another's body: Justice could feel the sharp ridges of Anders' ribcage and the smooth curve of his hips as ghostly tendrils travelled down his host's body, the shape of it both familiar and alien. Anders was different from what Justice had glimpsed of Aura when Kristoff's memories had merged with his mind: where Aura had been soft and curvy, Anders was thin and angular. He was too skinny; Hawke always said so before shoving foodstuffs right under their nose. Yet there was undeniable beauty in the way Anders' hipbones jutted through his skin, pulling it taut over his belly, desperately flat despite the faintest hint of softness forming right under his navel, courtesy of Hawke's attentive care. All of a sudden, Justice's mind felt numb; it was endearing, to say the least, toying with this body he inhabited, trailing over stiff limbs and sinewy muscle and feeling Anders' body react to his prodding with light shudders and spasms and a flutter in his heart. 

Justice delved deeper still, his touch teasing and burning through his host's nerves, until he elicited a soft moan from Anders. The sound was faint and muffled, but it had been unexpected, and Justice squirmed with satisfaction, his impatience replaced by a sense of wonder and curiosity that left him eager for more. Justice reached upwards for Anders' slim shoulders, tracing their outline with ghostly tendrils, and when he stretched further to tease the crease of his host's neck, Justice knew he had hit the right spot. He felt their body twitch under his coaxing and he snapped against Anders' nerves again, until the mage finally woke with a gasp.

 

 

 

Anders startled and jumped to his feet, lithe as a cat, sparks already forming at his fingertips as he spun around, ready to face his foe. Justice could hear Anders' heart thumping, could feel the rush of adrenaline that fuelled his magic and sharpened his mind. Panic flooded their mind, as well as old memories. Unwanted memories, bitter and cutting: a dark room, damp and inhospitable. Biting, piercing cold that numbed his bloodied skin and chilled him to the bone. Templars all around him, watching and snickering as cold, gauntleted hands closed around his wrists.  
Anders groaned and the snap of electricity around his fingers grew fiercer. Justice felt him scan his surroundings, wary and alert, frantically searching every corner of the clinic for signs of intruders. Having found none, Anders finally lowered his guard, throwing himself onto his straw mattress and running a hand through sweat-damp hair. Justice flared protectively within his host, feeling somewhat responsible for Anders' distress. Cautiously, he reached for Anders' shoulders as he had done before. Tendrils of energy shot through his hosts' body, stimulating the nerve endings around Anders' shoulders as Justice attempted to mimic a reassuring brush on the shoulder.

It did not work.  
  
Anders just about jumped out of his skin, his breath catching in his throat as he stifled a gasp.

"What in Andraste's..." Anders rasped, furrowing his brow.

 Justice squirmed and coiled, desperately regretful, yet he could not voice apology despite his best efforts.

"Was that... Shit, Justice. That was you?"

 

_I am sorry_ , Justice wanted to say, but as always his voice failed to reach Anders.  
The spirit resorted to a silent nudge against Anders' mind, his essence humming faintly within his host in a bid to express a feeling of reassurance. Justice then carefully extended within Anders as he had done moments before, feeling the prickling on Anders' skin as he roused the sensitive nerve endings around his host's fingers. Anders swallowed hard, his fingers twitching almost involuntarily under the new sensation.

"I... You scared me half to death," Anders said out loud, carefully studying the back of his hand as Justice retreated. "I didn't know you could do that."

_Neither did I_ , Justice thought, but once again his words went unheard. 

Anders sprawled on the straw mattress,  with a weary sigh, struggling to ease the tension in his shoulders by gently rubbing them.  
He was still alert, stealing glances at the door repeatedly, fearing that Templars may unhinge it at any moment. They both knew the lock was solid, and the wards Anders had placed on it would give them time enough to flee should a threat arise. Yet Anders remained wary, dark thoughts brewing in the depths of his mind, memories he had so far managed to keep mostly hidden from Justice, memories that spoke of loss and fear and dark, damp cells.

Justice had little to offer, but he decided it was worth trying. His essence hummed faintly as he drew on a breath of mana to summon a wisp of frost. Even on this side of the Veil, the Fade bent to his will. When he was in full control of Anders' body, Justice was a force to reckon with, his spells surging with a strength that no mortal man could ever hope to achieve. Restrained as he was, he could only manage weak, faint spells, but right now he did not need more than that. Justice's cool touch spread from Anders' chest, reaching for his neck and higher, all the way to his forehead where sweat-damp hair still clung to the skin. Justice felt Anders relax slightly as he let out a weary, somewhat shaky breath.  

"Thank you," Anders mumbled while letting out a yawn, and when his host's lips stretched into a thin smile Justice hummed with contentment.


	2. Chapter 2

The Hanged Man smelled of old ale and rotting wood, yet Anders' companions seemed fond of the place - most of them, at least. They each sat with a tankard of fiersomely strong cider in their hand, courtesy of Isabela. Aveline was brooding, as she often did, and the awkward silence between them had become almost unbearable by the time Hawke finally stalked into the tavern. Isabela waved amicably and Hawke let herself sink onto the empty chair by Anders' side as she withdrew four leather pouches from her satchel.

"Yesterday's cut." Marian announced proudly as she threw the first bag at Aveline. The coins inside rattled as the pouch landed heavily on wooden table; the redhead made a face, glowering at Hawke.

"This is mercenary money, and I am a _guardsman_ : I could get into deep trouble for this, Hawke."

"If you don't need the gold, I'll happily take it from you," Hawke remarked with a shrug. "That way Beth and I could afford to sleep on a mattress that doesn't carry Uncle's stench," Marian added, grimacing. Aveline frowned, shook her head, then ruefully snatched the pouch from Hawke's fingers and slid it under her chainmail without a word.

Two similar pouches fell before Isabela and Anders; Hawke opened the fourth pouch and extracted a couple of silvers from it.

"More drinks?" Marian proposed, and Isabela gingerly snatched the coins from her hand before making for the bar.

Anders toyed with his pouch, feeling its weight with a certain satisfaction, before letting his gaze fall upon Marian's money bag.

"My cut seems larger than yours," he remarked, quietly enough that Aveline, in her sulking, would not hear. It was true, Justice noticed: Marian's pouch did not look quite as full as everyone else's, while Anders' appeared especially heavy.

"You're daft," Hawke replied with a dismissive shrug. "I've split the gold four ways, as always. Use it for something good. Like food. That clinic of yours won't be of any help to anyone if you die of starvation."

Quick as a flash, Hawke crammed her pouch back in her satchel. Then she absently fondled with the dagger at her hip, unsheathed it, and began to sharpen it with a whetstone, putting an end to the conversation. Hawke was lying, Justice knew Anders could tell, and while the deception filled Justice with contempt, Anders' thoughts were much kinder. Gratitude. Appreciation. A hint of fondness.  
Justice did not know what to make of it, so he said nothing.

 

That night, Anders slept better than he had in weeks, no doubt thanks to the drinks he had shared with his companions. Justice had no need for sleep, so he remained alone, contemplating.  
  
This realm was just as confusing to him as it had been a year ago, when he had been pulled from the Fade and into the body of a stranger. The Warden had been kind to him, and had taken upon herself to teach him the history and customs of her world. She taught him how to properly converse with a mortal, or how to smile to express his happiness. She would giggle at his clumsy social skills, only to reassure and guide him moments later. Yet for all her efforts, this realm remained a mystery to him. This world was shaped not by ideas, or dreams, but by joy and sorrow, greed and war and lust.

 _Lust._  
Justice squirmed uneasily within Anders as long forgotten memories bled into his mind.  
  
Aura had been beautiful in her favourite gown, the silken green one embroidered with pearls; she had been more beautiful still once she'd removed it, lazy ringlets of golden hair falling over her bare shoulders and lower, flowing over the soft curve of her breasts. Justice clung to the faint echo until he could almost feel how warm she'd been against Kristoff, could almost hear her soft moans as her lover sucked a hardening nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the stiff peak. Aura keened and Kristoff groaned, yet before the memory could unfurl any further, a new thought slithered in, unexpected and unwelcome.

It was not a memory. It was a fantasy, a timid whim that had not originated from Justice.  
This time, it was Hawke that laid sprawled on a featherbed, her azure eyes shining with mischief as Anders hovered over her, his golden, silken strands cascading over Hawke's jet black hair. Marian writhed impatiently, her hands grasping Anders' hips hard enough to bruise. Hawke let out a long, drawn-out moan as he gingerly circled a nipple with his thumb, and her usually commanding voice cracked as she begged for more, _please,_ more. Despite Justice's dismay, the thought intensified.

Justice writhed helplessly as Anders crashed his lips against Hake's soft pale skin, biting and sucking viciously as he travelled down her chest, leaving a trail of red marks in his wake. The sight filled Justice with contempt, yet among the stream of indignation and outrage he caught a hint of something else. Greed. Jealousy.

Anders was his host, his everything.

The mage had given up on his freedom, on the chance of living a normal life to allow Justice to satisfy his desire to remain in this world. Anders was kindness and compassion, freedom and justice. Anders was _his_. The realisation burned within Justice's mind as he seethed, yet he was too terrified to wake his host. What would Anders think of him? Such thoughts were ordinary among mortals, that much Justice knew. But he was a spirit, a being devoid of the worldly needs that affected humans: by all means, he ought to be above them. Yet his mind ached with lust, his hunger a unquenchable flame that threatened to smolder him.

In the darkness he twisted and shuddered, bitterness and envy gnawing at him until dawn broke and resentment was all he knew.

 

Anders woke with a searing headache that no amount of magic could clear. He felt like he had barely gotten any sleep, and he was filled with a tiring feeling of grievance that wasn't quite his own. His fingers were stained with ink, he realised as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and a pile of parchments laid messily scattered over his desk. Anders rose at once, worry gnawing at him. The unusual state of the room suggested someone may have trespassed as he slept, yet the lock bore no signs of tampering, and the wards Anders had placed on the door were intact. Warily, he approached the desk to tidy up the parchments.   
A piece of paper lying at the edge of the table caught his eye. 

It bore a note that looked as if it had been scrambled on the parchment in a hurry. The handwriting was messy and clumsy, like that of a child, yet it vaguely reminded Anders of his own penmanship.

"YOU  DON'T NEED HER," the note read. "YOU HAVE ME, YOU DON'T NEED HER."

Anders' breath caught in his trhoat, his hands shaking slightly as he furrowed his brow. The messy handwriting that resembled his own, the ink on his fingers, the inexplicable feeling of anger that tightened his gut... Justice. It had to be. 

"What was that about?" Anders asked. He felt Justice twitch hithin him, wrapping tightly around his heart and flaring angrily within his gut. "I don't understand. What are you trying to say?"

Justice seemed to hesitate for a heartbeat. Then hazy images flooded Anders' mind: they were flimsy at best, like remnants of an old dream, yet Anders managed to make sense of them. He saw Hawke, sprawled on a luxurious featherbed. Her features were blurred, yet there was no mistaking the mop of jet black hair, nor the dark red scar across the bridge of her nose. Anders saw himself too, hovering over Hawke's nimble frame, kissing his way down her neck and earning a flurry of soft moans.

"That's..." Anders stumbled on his words, embarassment burning on his cheeks as he struggled to collect his throughs. "You saw that?"

Justice remained silent, as always, yet he made himself heard. Anders' neck started to tingle, gently at first, yet the spirit's touch soon became painfully sharp. Justice seemed upset.

"I suppose I can't exactly ask you not to intrude," he began. "But... I... Maker's breath, Justice. That was a fantasy. A whim. I've thought about it, I... Mortals do. Quite often. Men, especially." Anders was trying, really trying to explain himselfto Justice, yet words seemed to fail him.  "It's not like I would act on it. A year ago, maybe, but... I wouldn't put her through it now. Not now that I'm... Whatever it is I am."

Anders let out a sigh. Justice's outburst had left him drained, and confused. The spirit had shared his body, and his mind, for over a year now. He had watched, silently, as Anders found his lonely release more times than either of them could count. Justice's sudden jealousy seemed inexplicable.

"Look, I..." Anders' explanation was cut short as a voice beckoned from downstairs. Anders recognised Lirene's strong fereldan accent, and made his way to the ground floor, rubbing his temples and silently begging for Justice to quiet down. He would need to open the clinic, and with the lung affliction currently spreading around Darktown, Anders doubted he'd have time to talk to Justice before the day was over.

"We'll talk about this later," Anders promised.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, whoops - that got real dark, real quick.  
> The prompt asked for Justice having real bad timing, "distracting" Anders in dangerous situations and, well, that could only really end pretty damn badly in my head! 
> 
> Anyway, thank you to all you lovely readers and commenters - I hope you enjoy this chapter!

They did not get the chance to talk.  
Lirene had brought in a handful of patients, mostly children, and ailing people had flooded the clinic unti dusk. As Anders was about to shut the clinic, Hawke barged in. She required his assistance to deal with a gang of bandits and thieves that had been scaring the nobles of Hightown shitless. Anders was exhausted, yet he couldn't in all conscience send Hawke to fight an armed gang without a healer at hand.

So he followed her out of Darktown and across the docks. The night air was heavy with the smell of salt and fish and smoke. The familiarity of it was soothing, and Anders soon found himself chatting and jesting with Marian despite his tiredness.

They met Isabela and Aveline by a flight of marble stairs leading to Hightown's estates.

"You need to get over him already," Isabela teased. She was perched atop an old abandoned wooden crate, her legs crossed before her. "Wesley's gone. We need to find someone else to curl your toes."

"Shut it, whore." Aveline hissed, nodding towards Anders and Hawke as they approached.

"Don't you worry, sweet thing" Isabela continued, undaunted. "I'll take care of it; find you a strapping lad eager to flip you ass over tits and hammer you like a bent nail."

Hawke howled with laughter, and Anders couldn't help a snort. Aveline grabbed her shield in anger and thrust it upwards, aiming at Isabela's smirking face. Aveline's aim was true, yet she missed her target as Isabela jumped off the crate, quick as a cat.

"Easy there, big girl," the swashbuckler purred. "You'll want that shield intact when we meet those thugs."

Aveline groaned, Isabela laughed,and for a little while the four of them walked silently.

 

"I'm sorry I had to drag you out this late," Hawke said as they approached the meeting point, a secluded courtyard bathed in moonlight. She was worrying at her lip, as she often did when something was truly bothering her. 

"I'm fine," Anders tried to reassure her. "Besides, I could hardly leave you to deal with those two alone." He gestured towards Aveline and Isabela, who had fallen behind to resume their bickering.

"You look exhausted." Marian commented, her brow crinkling with worry. Anders said nothing; he could hardly hide the dark rings under his eyes, or the sickly paleness of his skin. "Justice is pushing you too hard," Hawke decided, glaring, and Anders felt Justice snap angrily within him. 

"It isn't his fault," Anders began defensively. "I'm just... busy."

Hawke was staring again, her icy stare boring into him, making even Justice nervous. A heartbeat later her hand was on him, tracing the outline of his spine through his linen tunic, then moving onto his hip to squeeze at the thin layer of skin drawn taut over angular bone. 

"You haven't been eating," Hawke pouted.

There was nothing sensual about the way she handled him, calloused fingers jabbing accusatorily at his too-narrow waist. Yet Anders could barely remember the last time he'd been touched, and Hawke's light prodding was enough to send a tingling shiver down his spine.

That was not to Justice's liking. 

Justice flared again, strongly enough to send Anders' skin aglow, if only for a heartbeat. Before Anders could say a thing, ghostly hands grabbed at him. Justice was everywhere at once, clutching at his heart, sliding across his chest and down his stomach, invisible tendrils raking across his thighs.  Anders ignored how Justice had learned to touch him like this, filling him from within and stimulating every sensitive spot on his body, his hold on Anders greedy and posessive. It was too much and not enough, and Anders heard himself gasp sharply as Justice flickered against the crease at the top of his thigh.

"Are you alright?" Hawke inquired, a hint of curiosity painted across her face. 

Before Anders could clear his mind enough to answer her, the enemy descended upon them.

Anders whirled around numbly, barely aware of the lowly thug running at him, a morningstar raised high above his head. Luckily Hawke was fast, and sharp: she lashed at the bandit with a groan, her dirk easily cutting through leather, skin, and muscle. Blood splattered across her face as her foe stumbled, hissing as his life force pooled at his feet, dark red and sticky. Hawke's second dagger flashed, and slashed the man's neck. It was a clean cut, and the thug's lifeless body fell to the ground with a thud. Anders knew he ought to come back to his senses, yet Justice's hold would not relent. The spirit's touches had become more insistent, and intimate. Justice sparked within him, and his ghostly touch was everywhere: running up his thighs, raking across his back and sliding down his navel to wrap around his straining cock. Anders' skin prickled as Justice coiled against his nerve endings, leaving the mage shuddering. Justice flared within him, moved _inside_ him, and it the sensation was too wildly pleasurable; it was all Anders could do to stifle a moan.

_Not now,_ he screamed in his mind. _What are you doing?_ If Justice heard him, he made no mention of it. Anders managed to summon a burst of electricity that he directed at one of the outlaws charging at Aveline. The air sparked with lightning, and the smell of burnt flesh mixed in with the scent of blood as his foe fell to the ground, his corpse a fuming, scorched mess.

Anders never saw the rogue creeping behind him.  
Hawke's warning came too late, and Anders flinched as the dagger slashed the air, missing his chest by inches. Then Justice surged forward in his wrath, and Anders saw only darkness.

He could still feel the electricity pooling in his palms: flickers of raw power that sparked against his skin, searing it. It was a power that wasn't his own; it was frightening and wild, flowing through him like a torrent, burning on his skin so sharply it made his eyes water as he groaned and writhed in pain, although no sound escaped his lips. Justice owned his body now, and Anders had been relegated to the depths of his own mind, bound in Justice's place. Anders couldn't speak, couldn't see - but he could hear. He heard the sharp crack of lighting, felt it sear his palms as Justice unleashed his power. He heard his foes scream in agony. At least, Anders thought it was the bandits's wailing he was hearing, but he could not be certain. They did not sound human, not anymore. 

 

Then there was silence.

Anders heard Isabela mutter a string of curses. He heard Aveline breathing raggedly as she sheathed her sword. Then there was Hawke, the sound of her footsteps rushing in, a soft thud as she dropped to her knees before him. Small, familiar hands pushing back a lock of hair from his face, shaking him, grounding him. She smelled of  blood.

"Let him go." Hawke's voice was angry, and hard.

"I was protecting him." Anders could feel his own lips move, but it was not his own voice he heard, nor his words."I was protecting _you_."

Hawke gasped, hesitated, then gripped his shoulders even tighter.

"You scared me," she said simply. Justice nodded.

"It wasn't my intention."

Marian paused, and carefully let go of him.

"Are we really doing this, Hawke?" Aveline suddenly cut in. There was fear in her voice, and suspicion. "Having a friendly chat with a demon?"

"Spirit," Hawke hissed through clenched teeth, and Anders felt a flutter of gratefulness in Justice's mind. "Spirit, not demon."

"Call it what you will," the redhead bit back. "He - _it_ \- is dangerous. You saw what it is capable of. If Wesley were here..."

"But he isn't," Marian remarked curtly, her voice terrifyingly calm and icy. "He is dead. Just like every other Templar who ever laid their eyes on Beth."

"Careful, Hawke," Aveline threatened, and Anders heard her gauntleted fingers grasp the hilt of her sword. The tension in the air was almost palpable, until Isabela broke the silence.

"So!" the rogue cut in. "Should we debate here until the Carta sends in reinforcements to finish us off, or shall we take this somewhere else?"

"Go back to the barracks Aveline," Hawke intimated. "We're done here."

Aveline hesitated, scoffed, and soon enough Anders heard her walk away, her armor clanking with every angry step. 

"Thank you, Justice,"  Hawke said softly once Aveline was gone.  Her tone was kind enough, yet Anders could feel her hesitation; she obviously wasn't too sure how to speak to a spirit. "Anders is safe. We all are, I mean. Thanks to you. You can let go now, if - if you wish."

Justice didn't particularly want to let go, and Anders couldn't blame him. It was a cruel thing to be relegated within the depths of another being, to be trapped inside a body with no way to speak one's mind. Yet Justice did as he was bid, relealsing Anders and retreating deep within him.

Light returned to the world, then color. 

Familiar sights: bright blue eyes boring into him; the moonlight reflecting off of Isabela's golden jewels as she offered him a hand. Anders took it gratefully, and the pirate pulled him up in a single, swift motion. Then Anders looked around, and wished that he hadn't. Charred cospses laid scattered around him. Others looked like they had been hacked to pieces. The smell of burnt flesh rised in the hot night air and made him dizzy. He stumbled, but Hawke held him.

"Stay with me,"  she said. She was smiling.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, that was definitely the strangest thing I have ever written - and the hardest thing to write, too!  
> It took me a while to wrap my head around it and decide how to do this, so I hope it all kind of makes sense and reads alright.
> 
> Here's to weird, spirity sexy time!

By the time Justice agreed to retreat back to the depths of his host's mind, Anders had been exhausted, and worn out.

 

Hawke had argued he shouldn't be alone, and Isabela agreed, yet Anders insisted that being alone was exactly what he needed. Marian had threatened to sleep on his doorstep until Isabela reminded her that Bethany would be waiting, and worrying. So Hawke left grudgingly, but not before giving Anders - and Justice - a long, hard look, and menacing to tear the door to the clinic apart should Anders not send word of his wellbeing on the morrow.

The mage let himself fall upon his bed with a weary sigh. Justice twitched cautiously within, dreading confrontation yet unable to avoid it. Justice had felt the way Anders' stomach tightened as his host gazed upon the death and destruction Justice had caused. Anders had barely spoken since then, exchanging only a few words with Hawke, and none with Justice.

_I am sorry,_ Justice wanted to say.  
Back in the moonlit courtyard, Justice had been unable to focus on anything that wasn't Anders, the way his body twitched deliciously under his touch and the soft, sinful moans Justice had dragged out of his host. But when the blade cut through thin air, inches away from them, Justice had lost all control. He wished he hadn't, truly, yet there was no way to right his wrongs: the outlaws were dead, Hawke was worried and Aveline may well have turned from friend to foe.

"What happened back there?" Anders finally said, breaking the silence; he curled up in his bed, drawing his knees against his chest and taking a slow, drawn-out breath. 

Justice extended a careful tendril of thought, embracing his host and trying to convey a feeling of protection.

"Not that." Anders snapped, and the harshness of his voice was enough to cause Justice to retreat almost fearfully. "You were... Maker, I am still not sure _what_ you were doing." He added, more kindly this time. Anders was confused and somewhat anxious, Justice could easily tell that from his host's quickened breath, and the knot forming in his belly. Yet there were other feelings that Anders could not entirely hide from Justice. Curiosity; hesitant, repressed eagerness; and, buried deep within, the faintest hint of excitement. Anders had been alone for so long, and somehow Justice knew he wanted, _needed_ this.

Anders gasped softly as Justice reached for the center of his chest. The sensation was uncanny, and Justice shared the prickling in their skin as he extended a ghostly finger. Justice squirmed ever so slightly before freezing in place, his touch barely a whisper on their skin. He felt for Anders’ mind, searching for signs of discomfort, or distress. He found none. Instead, Anders smiled faintly, bringing a hand up to rest against Justice's tendrils extending over his chest. It was a small, careful gesture, yet Justice could not hide the spark of warm happiness that flared between them. Faint whispers of thought resonated within him, echoed that did not come from Justice or Anders alone, but from the small part within them both where their minds touched and mingled, bleeding within one another. _More,_ said the faint whispers in the back of his mind. _Love. Mine._  

Anders must have heard them too, for Justice heard the catch in his breath as he slid a hand under his robes to rest against the spot Justice had claimed. Their skin prickled lightly where Justice reached, humming faintly against their hand. Anders squirmed and Justice flared impatiently within, reaching higher as Anders softly laid back on the mattress. 

Justice burned and coiled against sensitive nerves, sending jolts of eerie energy sparking against the skin of Anders’ neck. In the long nights he had spent alone, chasing his own release, Anders had flirted with the idea of pain. Fingernails had raked sharply against his skin as he mimicked a scrape of teeth on his neck, or an iron grip on his hip. Justice had been alarmed at first by the self-inflicted scratches and bruises that littered his host’s skin, but he had learned soon enough that pain could be associated with pleasure in a most fulfulling way. Anders exhaled sharply, his breath quickening as Justice toyed with his limits, suddenly sparking much more fiercely against his nerves and earning a loud moan.

"Maker… Fuck, Justice." Anders panted, his hips rolling deliciously as his – their – hardening cock chased what little friction he could get from the sheets that laid bundled across his legs.

Justice could feel Anders’ growing need as it slipped between them, coiling tightly in Anders’ gut and singing in Justice’s mind. It was a burning, ugent ache that guided Justice’s touch as he travelled upwards still. Anders’ lips parted with a gasp as Justice stimulated the nerve endings there, sparking against his host’s lips and sending flickers of thought dancing on his tongue. It was the closest thing to a kiss that Justice would get, and he lingered there a while, toying with Anders’ tongue and sparking against his lips.

Anders was writhing and panting by the time Justice’s touch wandered back to his chest. Heated tendrils reached lower still, nudging at a miriad of nerve endings and tracing paths of pleasure across his stomach. Anders’ chest heaved, his breathing quick and loud and sharp. He whined as Justice flickered against his hips, snapping sharply at the taut skin: it was a needy, lustful sound that caused Justice to quiver within, helpless before the drowning want that poured into his mind, filling him with searing desire. 

"Lower," Anders rasped, yet Justice barely moved. He wanted, needed, burned to hear Anders plead, the way his host had imagined when he had pictured Hawke lying above him, teasing and praising in that lusty voice of hers.  "Please, Justice," Anders all but sobbed, and Justice let an encouraging ripple hum between them. "Please, I need more."

Justice obeyed, his touch flowing within Anders’ legs, brushing softly against the fibres of his nerves, then snapping strongly to mimic sharp nails raking across his skin. Anders’ hips bucked as he keened, a loud, drawn-out groan that Justice drank in, relishing the neediness of it. Justice snaked his way up Anders’ tembling thighs, curiously poking at the base of his hardened cock and earning a flurry of groans. Anders’ mind was mingling further with his own, his thoughts snaking into Justice’s consciousness, his desire hot-white and all-consuming. Anders’ back arched, and when he moaned his voice echoed with Justice’s harsh undertones, his skin flashing blue as Justice poked and prodded, his ghostly touch stimulating the most sensitive parts of thwir body and leaving them flushed and panting.

"Yes," Anders rasped, or maybe Justice did : it did not matter anymore. They moved and writhed as one, their thoughts blending together and flowing between them.  "Just like that. Please, please, _please_."

Justice coiled against Anders’ nerves, travelling up and down his shaft, quickly at first, then slowing down until Anders’ eyes fluttered close and his lips parted to mouth a series of incoherent words. Justice was just as helpless and numb, yet as he jerked within he sensed a heated spot that had been left untouched, a bundle of nerves that Justice poked at carefully. Anders’ body tensed as he cried out, his hips bucking wildly under Justice's touch.

"There. I - Yes." Anders sobbed, struggling to formulate a single coherent thought.

His arousal flowed freely within Justice, white-hot and almost overwhelming. Justice flickered at the sensitive spot within Anders, over and over again, as tendril still coiled around his cock.

"Fuck – oh, fuck, " Anders keened and Justice groaned as they came with a shuddering cry, Anders thusting wildly against Justice’s touch, spilling in thick spurts across his chest as Justice jerked and flailed within, eagerly taking in every loud moan, every shaking, laboured breath. Then it was over, their searing desire appeased and smothered, their body still twitching with each feeble wave derived from the aftermath of their orgasm. Justice nudged at Anders’ mind, and his host smiled, causing Justice to coil around his heart tightly, embracing him.

"That was…" Anders began, running a hand up his chest and feeling the skin hum faintly under Justice’s touch. "Incredible. And, odd – in a good way," he added so as to not offend Justice.

_I love you,_ Justice wanted to say. _You’re beautiful and mine, and I love you._  But their minds had been cleaved again, and Anders could not hear. Yet Justice knew his host could still feel his warmth, and the faint hum of approval that slipped between them. Anders soon fell asleep, spent and happy, letting Justice coil around the nerves in his shoulders, holding him in a ghostly embrace, and Justice wished he never had to let go.


End file.
